True Love's Kiss
by carliemartinBLG
Summary: Post-Reichenbach. A black cat with icy blue eyes followed John Watson home, hoping to be adopted. Captivated by the smart cat's odd manners, John took the cat in, not knowing the true identity of the lovely cat he just so happened to adopt. Johnlock - my first attempt at fluff. Excuse the slight OOC - it is, after all, a fairytale. ;)


**True Love's Kiss**

People say that black cats are death omens. Black cats are mentioned in thousands of folklore as mighty bearers of dark magic and catastrophe.

Of course, John Watson is one of those men who don't really believe on petty superstitions and old wives' tales.

Because here he is, taking a stray black cat that happened to follow him home, and thinking of adopting the smart feline being – no matter what the good old Mrs Hudson would say. She, after all, is just a superstitious old lady who, coincidentally, is the owner of the flat he just happened to live in. No big deal, John, really.

Now the cat's lamp-like blue eyes is staring – unblinking – right at John's emerald ones, as if he was observing John's every move as he makes his afternoon tea.

"Oh, do you like tea?" John smiled at the cat. It seems to trigger a rather odd response to the cat; like it was grimacing at what John had just said.

"No teas for you, then. How about some milk?"

The cat grimaced again, its mouth contorting into an odd angle (showing the razor-sharp teeth beneath), followed by an angry purr.

"O...kay, obviously not milk. How about..." John paused and thought of something weirder. "How about some coffee? Black, with two sugars?"

That seemed to appeal much to the black cat, as it wrapped its bushy black tail on John's left leg and rubbed its whiskers on John's shoe.

One hell of a clingy cat, indeed.

Surprisingly enough, the cat liked the coffee. It perched on John's lap after slurping the remnants of the coffee as John was reading the newspaper that arrived earlier.

"Oh, hello, uh..."

The cat tilted its head in an odd manner that closely resembles the _"I'm challenging you"_ look, its bright blue eyes scorching John's face with apparent shame.

John folded the newspaper and flung it on the sofa opposite him.

"Perhaps I should give you a name."

The cat mewed in approval. However, John frowned in response.

"But the problem is I don't really have a nice name for you."

The smart cat looked at John as if to say _"What goes inside your funny little brain? It must be so boring"_, and tugged at the midnight blue woollen scarf John was wearing.

It also tugged a sensitive string at John's emotions.

John stiffened. He wasn't even aware he's wearing the damn woollen scarf in the first place.

The woollen scarf reminded John of its previous owner; the man with a mass of unruly black curls, glowing blue eyes, and a stupefying superior level of intellect compared to others.

John Watson's true north: _Sherlock Holmes._

The cat nuzzled on John's chest, constantly rubbing his unruly raven-black tail on John's arm and started clawing lightly on John's shirt. The cat began to yawn, looked up at John with a pleading expression and closed its eyes slowly.

"Sherlock."

The cat looked back at John with blown pupils and the look of utter surprise. It leaned its head on John's chest, letting out a gentle mew.

"Do you like that name? Sherlock?"

The black cat, Sherlock, only mewed in response, before another voice boomed into John's otherwise quiet afternoon of tea and biscuits and newspapers and cats.

"John Watson."

John stared at the now open doorway, which is now blocked by a shady man in a black three-piece suit with a receding hairline and a black umbrella.

Surely this story has a _lot _of black in it.

"Mycroft, I thought I had made myself clear a week after the incident."

The cat – Sherlock, I mean (old habits die hard!) stirred on John's lap, trying to get some decent sleep. John's gaze, however, was dead set on Mycroft's eyes.

"Clear about what, John?"

"I'm tired of associating myself with the 'British Government' ever since my partner..."

John choked, but then cleared his throat immediately.

"I… I honestly can't fill Sherlock's shoes, Mycroft."

"My apologies, Dr Watson."

"If you think I'd feel sorrier for you just because you're his brother, you're wrong. I had more to lose than you because... Because..."

The cat stirred, positioned itself so it can have a closer look to John's eyes. It started clawing yet again on John's shirt, willing him to give attention. John, in return, stroked Sherlock's black fluffy fur.

"John, pray tell me why you haven't thought of saying that earlier to him? I'm afraid it's a bit too late for that, don't you think?"

Mycroft clucked his tongue and shook his head twice, his icy gaze still fixed on John.

Sherlock hissed silently, his lamp-like eyes seemed determined to put burning holes on Mycroft's hell-priced suit.

"How could you sever all links with our family if you're keeping that beautiful black stray cat here at 221B Baker Street?"

"How– oh, never mind. Is this cat yours, then?"

"No, but can I have it?"

Sherlock hissed again, this time he didn't bother silencing it. His tail was becoming more like a bottle-brush every second his gaze stayed on Mycroft.

Mycroft, in return, smiled a little.

"Nope. Sorry, Mycroft. Sherlock's mine. He followed me home, so I will keep him."

"Very well then, here, keep this."

Mycroft placed an icy blue-coloured cat collar with a silver bell dangling as a pendant. John placed the collar at Sherlock's neck and stroked the cat's fur lovingly.

Sherlock purred appreciatively at John and shot Mycroft a _"What are you still doing here?" _look. Mycroft seemed to get the gist of the cat language and walked to the doorway.

"Sooner, John. If you only had said it sooner."

A few seconds and footsteps later, Mycroft disappeared from the flat. Sherlock relaxed, his bottle-brush tail receded to normal.

"You don't really like Mycroft, do you?"

John rubbed his nose against the cat's cold ones, and Sherlock could only purr in approval, his bushy tail curling on John's hand.

The black cat leaned in a bit more, as if reaching John's lips to…

"Hey John! You've…"

John whipped his head towards the doorway, surprised to find a flustered Molly Hooper on the doorway. Sherlock the cat, on the other hand, clawed John's shirt firmly. The cat eyed Molly with a hating streak in his gaze.

Well, is there a 'Visiting Day' in London? John felt so popular that day.

"You've… You've got a cat."

Sherlock tensed, his body contorting to a warning signal. His tail became bottle-brush-like again, and his dilated pupils became slit-like in anger. He bared his teeth and clawed at John's shirt more insistently.

John turned to Sherlock and stroked Sherlock to calm down. The cat, however, did not fucking calm down.

Sherlock hissed madly and jumped off of John's lap, chasing Molly Hooper on her heels, clawing her legs madly whenever he catches up with her.

He didn't stop until Molly was out of the fucking flat at 221B Baker Street.

John wasn't that far away from the cat. The instance Sherlock stopped at the doorway, John picked him up and took him upstairs.

"Sherlock! That's not a way to behave! You can't just chase people, especially girls."

Sherlock gave John a bored look, as if to say, _"I can't chase girls? So does that mean I can chase boys, then?". _John ignored the cat's expression and tried to look mad again.

Sherlock looked at John's eyes and managed to muster a look of pleading, his slit-like pupils slowly returning to being dilated again. He rubbed his feline face on John's hands, seeking for the gentle stroke that only John Watson could give.

"Damn it. Alright, I forgive you."

John closed his eyes and kissed the cat's nose. The whiskers are tickling him, but hell, he didn't care.

He reached to stroke the unruly fur, only to be startled because there was no bloody black fur. His searching hands met a fine clump of curls and bare, naked skin instead.

John slowly opened his eyes.

The first thing his eyes registered was a pair of ice-blue eyes and beautifully-defined cheekbones.

_Sherlock Holmes._

John felt dizzy.

He blinked twice. It surely wasn't an illusion, because it didn't go away when he blinked.

The next thing that John felt were the hands holding him tightly and the slow but insistent human tongue trying to part his lips. John had no objection at all. He gave in to the sensation, trying to reciprocate the sensation the perfect angel was giving him.

"Oh, John. My dear, beloved John. A kiss and a forgiveness from you is the most perfect solution to my sickness."

"And you're the perfect antidote for my loneliness, Sherlock."

John Watson leaned at the taller man's chest and exhaled sharply.

"Are you really back?"

Sherlock kissed John's soft sand-coloured hair and smiled.

"So I asked Molly a favour; that is, to be bewitched by her grandmother so I can turn into a cat when I jump off a building, so I can survive. However, that old cow never mentioned that it was a curse that can be breakable by forgiveness and a kiss from a person whom I truly love. So it took me ages to come back to you. That's why I chased her – she's been kissing me as a cat for months, for heaven's sake! She thinks she's the one who can break the curse, when I know very well who might!"

John smiled sheepishly. Sherlock decided to quote his brother.

"If you only had said _it_ sooner."

John looked at Sherlock and smiled, with an expression of awe. He glanced at Sherlock's body and giggled like a little schoolgirl.

"Er, Sherlock? Would you like a sheet to cover your nakedness?"

Sherlock laughed, his laughter a music to John's ears after a long time.

"No, a cat collar's fine by me, as our activity would involve less clothing as possible."

John grinned widely at Sherlock and kissed him briefly on his lips. He asked the question that he wanted to ask three minutes ago.

"Are you going to leave me again after this?"

Sherlock enclosed John in his arms, and whispered,

"No, John. Everywhere I go, I'll make sure you're right beside me."

"I… I love you, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled and kissed John serenely.

"Remember when I said that I'm married to my work?"

John frowned at this, Sherlock, however, continued.

"_You_ are my work, John."

If this is Sherlock's way of saying I love you too, it's enough for John.

More than enough to swear to stay by Sherlock Holmes's side for all of eternity.


End file.
